Zombie Waltz (Book 1) Read online

  The shotgun lies unused on the seat next to her. Faith grabs it. She doesn’t want to get back out but needs to find Rose. She imagines that she got scared when everything went crazy and ran somewhere to hide. But where? She slides across the car to the passenger seat. The Indian man lies on the ground right in front of her and the cop not far from him. Both have several people hunched over them.

  A man grabs ahold of Faith’s shoulder. She turns screaming and slams the barrel of the shotgun into his neck. Another man whose throat is gaping open comes around the hood of the Malibu, arms outstretched. Faith has no choice. She knows she will die here if she does not shoot.

  Bang

  She fires. Straight at the man’s head and the slugs take it off. She turns from him before he falls, but hears the crash of his body behind her. She can feel the tiny reverberations from it smacking the concrete in her bones.

  A woman looks up from where she’s sprawled chewing on the Indian man’s leg. She opens her mouth and starts to get up. Faith turns the smoking barrel of the cannon on her and squeezes the handle tight, preparing for the thing to explode in her hands again. She squeezes the trigger.

  Click

  Faith tilts the gun and looks at it awestruck. It should have fired, but didn’t. The woman is still coming and now two others have taken notice of her. She turns from them running straight for the door she had run out to escape the ones inside. She doesn’t have to open it because all of the glass has been shattered out and the handle ripped off. She jumps through the frame, slides, and nearly falls on the slick floor.

  There’s blood covering it almost completely. Most of the shelves have been knocked over but only three bodies lie; all are still…only dead in here. Faith silently sighs and sucks air in. She creeps as far as she can around the debris and then starts over a section of shelf that she can’t get around.

  She hears engines and guns and screams outside. She crawls over the shelf, turns and runs down the hallway to the ladies room and grabs the handle. She can’t turn it at first because of the blood on her hand. She wipes it down her dress as she hears a moan from beneath the pile of debris behind her.

  She squeals and hurriedly slips into the bathroom, slams the door shut, and turns the dead bolt. She composes herself long enough to walk over to the sink and place the gun on the counter. She turns the water on and looks in the mirror.

  As soon as her gaze catches her blue eyes they fill with tears. She lets loose. Eventually walking slowly backwards to the door, Faith slides down hugging her face to her knees and sobbing. She wails for a few moments and screams, “Rose! Rose!” but is silenced by something slamming into the door.

  The thud repeats itself. She covers her mouth. She doesn’t dare try to stand. She crawls over to the sink and pulls the shotgun off of it into her lap as she turns and backs up to the counter. She looks at the gun trying to puzzle out why it didn’t fire again. She inspects the fat and ribbed plastic pump on the barrel. It seems like it is attached to a rail. She grips it in her left hand holding the handle with her right and tries to pull it back.

  It takes more than a little of her strength but once it starts moving it happens all at once. The pump slides down the rail toward the trigger and when it gets to the end of the barrel a red and shiny brass cartridge ejects and flies past the stall. It bounces off the wall before landing with a clink on the tile floor. The thud repeats itself. Faith points the shotgun at the door knowing it will fire again now, but unsure of how many times.

  3:15

  Brian leads the way, followed closely by Lynne. They tiptoe as quietly as possible into their own home. Brian scans the place. It’s dark. He flicks on the light switch by the front door; still dark.

  Brian turns his head and whispers to Lynne, “It looks quiet enough…I wonder if he left?” Jill appears in the doorway behind her. Daniel peeks his head in too.

  “Where would he go? He wouldn’t have left without us . He would be on foot. He didn’t get in until after I left for work this morning. If he even came home…” Lynne says in a louder, more relaxed voice.

  “He came home, I was here. He may still be sleeping. He was uh…” Brian stops and turns his head considering Jill, “…pretty plowed.” He finishes.

  “Samson, here boy!” Daniel says loudly, and emits a shrill whistle by pinching his lips with his fingers.

  “Damn it, Daniel…I said be quiet!” Brian says his voice still hushed. He flinched when Daniel even spoke. Daniel doesn’t live here anymore, in fact, if it hadn’t been for the attacks and all of the craziness going on, Brian and Daniel would still have beef.

  “Well, I was calling your damn dog. I figured…”

  “He isn’t here or he would’ve been barking before we got to the porch, Daniel, and you know it.” Brian interrupts him. He looks at Daniel with the threat of the beef returning if Daniel doesn’t shut up regardless of the crisis.

  “What’s that smell?” Jill adds as all four of them shuffle another pace into the living room. Brian breaks out of their little Scooby Doo formation. He jogs around the sectional couch and around the wall through the small dining area into the kitchen.

  “Kitchen door’s open, looks kicked in. The fridge is open too. I wonder if we’ve already had looters.” Brian says a little louder through the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  “Les’s door is shut. I think the smell’s coming from in there.” Jill says, approaching the only hallway in the house. Across the hall the bathroom door stands open. It’s dark within. Jill turns past it. “Smell’s definitely coming from in here.” She says, and starts to weep and slowly slides down to her knees then onto her butt in the middle of the hall. Daniel immediately approaches her from behind and touches her shoulder.

  “Jill, calm down. We don’t even know who’s in there.”

  “Wh o the fuck do you think is in there, Daniel? It’s his room.” Jill speaks between sobs looking from Daniel to Lynne and then Brian who reappeared out of the kitchen after getting the door closed as well as possible. “It’s my fault…” to Daniel; “He should’ve been with me last night…” to Lynne; “If he’s dead, it’s all my fault.” Jill moans as she collapses with her head in her hands, her brown curly hair covering her face.

  Brian carefully steps over her. “We have to find out. We can’t leave without checking first.”

  “No. Don’t open it. Please Brian, I can’t…” Jill begs looking up at him from the floor.

  “Jill, we have to.” Lynne says stepping next to Daniel, who is still behind Jill and crouches, extending her arms around Jill’s shoulders. “He may not be in here, or he might be okay. Let’s just check.” she whispers in Jill’s ear. Brian still has his hand firmly gripped on Les’s door handle, but has his body turned, waiting impatiently for Jill’s reply. “His room always did, kind of, stink.” Lynne says letting a smile curl on her lips.

  “You can wait outside if you need to.” Brian says.

  “No…it’s okay. If he’s in there, I have to see him.” Jill says after shaking her head and regaining some composure, but then immediately scrunches her face and starts to blubber again.

  “Shhh it’s okay. Let’s just check. Let’s just see.” Lynne soothes still holding the crying girl. Jill nods her head despite continued tears.

  Brian turns back around and takes a deep breath. The door knob turns easily and he pushes the door in, looks, and almost immediately turns to hurl. The intense smell of fresh drying blood hits the others as he practically jumps over Jill and Lynne and turns into the bathroom. He vomits into the toilet. Lynne buries Jill’s face in her hair and they both cry loudly.

  Daniel steps past the others. He has always prided himself on being tough and having an iron stomach, so he knows it’s him who has to go in first. The red of blood is so assaultingly real in front of him, he can only look at the bed, where there’s a huge black pool of it, for a long time.

  He blinks furiously but can’t seem to move his head or eyes t o see the rest
of the room. He’s vaguely aware of the shapes lying on the floor in front of the bed and the wind coming through the giant hole in the wall, but he can’t take his eyes off the bed. He tries to speak, “Um…um…uh…” but Brian has recovered and pushes past him into the room, finally looking down at the bodies.

  The man on Les is so huge that it looks like he’ s crushing him. Les is covered in blood. He lies still and his eyes are closed. His arms are back behind his head laid out with his fingers spread the way a receiver may look after he’s been tackled leaping for the football. His right arm’s shredded, but not so badly that Brian can’t see the bite wound.

  The man lies frozen; looking sickeningly like he was going to eat Les. His mouth hangs open and his jaws are wide apart. There are no fucking eyes at all; just two holes. Brian turns and pushes past Daniel again, crowding the doorway as Jill and Lynne try to walk in. “You don’t want to go in there.”

  “I have to…” Jill looks at him with her red eyes squinted and a big smile that looks formed from insanity caused by sadness. Now, Daniel’s the one pushing past all of them.

  “I’m gonna be sick!” He shouts after shoving past Lynne into the living room, bolting for the front door. Daniel never reenters the house.

  With the way now cleared, after Lynne turned to take a swing at Daniel, who stepped on her foot, Jill steps through the door. She can feel the word forming slowly in her throat and building pressure there. She can’t stop it from coming. Without telling her lips to, they form the letters and the vibration shoots past her vocal chords. Jill screams, “No!” in the lowest pitch her voice will go and as loudly and fiercely as she has ever screamed.

  Brian ’s had enough; the noise will undoubtedly attract trouble. He turns from the sight. His own eyes start to feel puffy and full. He grabs Jill, lifting and carrying her, still screaming nonsensically, out into the living room, and throws her over the back of the couch. When she lands it cuts off her scream. She looks at Brian with hatred in her eyes. “Jill, I’m sorry. I know how you feel, but you have to be quiet!” He shouts in her face; not taking his own advice. He’s not angry with her, but it’s hard not to act angry. It’s the only thing keeping him from breaking down.

  “Shut up Brian!” She shouts back.

  “Lynne, come on.” Brian turns looking back into the hallway where Lynne had gathered herself and walked into her best friend’s room. Tears form in her eyes and start to fall when she sees Les’s chest heave very slightly.

  “Brian, come in here.” She says, watching Les breathe. “What?” He asks appearing beside her.

  “He’s alive.” Lynne whispers “Look.”

  Brian glares at Les’ chest for a moment then looks at her with a scowl. “You know what happens. We have to leave, now. There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  “But…”

  “No and be quiet. This is bad enough for Jill.” He walks back out of the room and Lynne can hear him tell Jill, “Come on. We have to. No, that scream is probably going to draw a lot of them. Come on. We have to go.”

  Lynne walks forward until her toes are rig ht by Les’s ear. She bends down, takes a step back and squats by his head. She leans forward, her teeth are almost chattering from shaking so violently. She purses her lips and kisses Les. His mouth is warm and his lips are wet. “I’m sorry. We’ll never forget you.” She rises and turns from the room, following the others out of the house.

  Molasses

  Somehow, I swim out of that darkness, back to reality, waking to discover that I’m blind. My eyelids are sealed shut. I haven’t forgotten anything about what happened, but was that a dream? Wasn’t it? It had to be. I’m frightened, and in bad pain. A terrible smell lies over me. I gag and nearly vomit from the horrid stench.

  A dull throbbing pain echoes from points all over my head, and I can feel something very heavy pressing on my legs. My chest and arms are covered in thick sticky syrup that makes it hard to move. My neck’s stiff and it feels like molasses on my face and in my hair. My entire upper body throbs with different levels of pain.

  I reach up with my right hand trying to touch my face; this is a mistake. A spike of pain rolls through my arm and up into my head. The pang coming from my arm pulsates so severely that I feel like I am going to pass out. I try to scream, but can make no noise except a dry gurgle from deep within my parched throat. I can taste nothing and my eyes still won’t open.

  Panic rushes in on me. I feel a warm stream of blood flowing out from the middle of my arm as I cradle it. I try to open my eyes under their own power, which I never considered to be something that would take any effort before. I contort and strain my face lifting my eyebrows and stretching my jaw, but it’s useless. They won’t open.

  It’ s blood on my face and all over me. At least some of it is mine. I can’t feel my legs at all; just the pressure being exerted on my stomach by whatever is crushing them. Not whatever, I know very well what they’re being crushed by him. The man who attacked me. The man I killed. I would have never thought, no matter how bad my life was going, that I would kill someone. But he was totally insane. I had no other choice! Well that’s what I’m choosing to tell myself anyway. And anyone who comes to investigate will see that. It’s obvious! He attacked me!!! My defense is set. My insanity plea locked in.

  I need assistance. I decide to reach up, cautiously, with my left hand, fearing the same pain will come, but it doesn’t. I use my finger and thumb to try to pry my eyelids apart one at a time. It’s slow going because any real pressure hurts badly and my eyes begin to water from it, the tears actually help the process a lot though. After a few attempts I’m able to pry the lids of my left eye apart. I throw my head this way and that, gawking; looking around my room in horror and disbelief. All of the black and congealed blood and gore makes it look like a paint bomb exploded.

  The fat man slouches on my legs just as I left him, but more decayed and bloated. His skin hangs loose on his face and the horrid expression he left this world with remains exacerbated by the two gaping black holes that lie in the sockets his dead eyes should be staring out at me from. He’s disgusting. I feel like I should be sad for him, but I ‘m not. Right now I am just grossed out and need to get away from him.

  I push as hard as I can with my left arm alone, but it is not enough to budge him. I try with all my might to move my legs and think I am getting my toes to wriggle. I look around behind me for any kind of tool to pry him with.

  I can just reach the small metal handle of the sliding closet door. I get a firm grip with my left hand and pull with all my might, but am only rewarded by the handle breaking off of the door, and slamming back down onto the hardwood floor.

  The effort doesn’ t free my legs, but I can definitely feel them now. Both have the sensation of ten thousand knives jabbing into them. I yelp from the pain. Laugh out loud at the stupidity of the situation, but shut up when I hear a loud crash. Some kind of siren follows. Then a gunshot cracks and there is a terrible scream in quick succession. It can’t be more than a block away. Taking my attention from my entanglement I gaze up at the hole where my window used to be. What the hell is going on?

  With my heart rate doubled I turn back to the corpse and chance using both hands to push on it. I wince and my right eyelid gets stuck again. I look up at the bright blue sky outside my room when I hear more sounds of unrest in the distance.

  Redoubling my efforts, I grab ahold of the closet door, sliding the fingers of both hands under it, and, squeezing the last knuckle around the edge with my eyes shut tight and my teeth gritted, pull. It hurts my arm real bad, but I don't care. The chaotic sounds steel my resolve to get free despite the pain.

  I pull as hard as I can. I stop, panting and then sucking in quick breaths, pull again and feel my legs move. It feels like climbing out of a huge pit of warm marshmallow sauce. After a few more tugs my right leg comes completely free, and pins and needles make me want to shriek and my leg spasms.

  I kick at the man like crazy. Planting my h
eel in his neck on the fourth kick, I really get leverage on him. The hold the goo has on us loosens. He rolls off of my legs completely with a few more kicks; sliding on the wood floor and knocking his head into the foot of my bed. He comes to a stop like a jiggling bowl of Jell-O.

  I scramble into the closet scream ing, “Fuck!” at the top of my lungs. Grab handfuls of dirty clothes and wipe frantically at my body. I curl up and let tears come and wash me into a severe delirium. I don’t know what to do now. I need to get cleaned up, get to the hospital somehow. Don’t know how I’m going to get to the hospital with no car. Have no idea how I got this far. I don’t even know if I can walk.

  Where are my fucking roommates? They should be here to get me. They should have been here. They should have come back. They left me to die. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.

  The experience has broken me completely. I weep and moan in the closet for a while, hang my head, slowly breathing in and out mingled in a pile of dirty and now bloody clothes.

  After a while, I calm and watch the sky through the hole in my wall. Decide to test my legs. They work, but barely. They’re still shaky and I feel incredibly weak. I groan and try to stretch but don’t get far. Collapse against the wall and moan. I have a terrible headache.

  I have to try to get to the hospital. I can a ssume from the man’s state when he entered my room that I need to get myself checked out. I feel sick. My throat is dry and sore. And my injuries…are hard to think about.

  In desperate need of water, I stumble towards my bedroom door. The three steps to get there take much longer than they should and my head is spinning much too fast. It necessitates more than a little concentration to turn the smooth round knob.

  Where are my goddamned roommates? Surely Brian would have come to help me. I want to believe that I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t have, but really I can imagine it. I can imagine a scene much like this one, with a slightly grimmer ending.